Rearview MirrorIf I had my way, this would all take place
in the rearview mirror of a fast little
gun metal gray Porsche, with those wide skinny tires.
The past seems so perfectly reflected in a rearview mirror.
Not like those trudged up memories of childhood you get
on a therapist’s faux leather couch. You’d think for
the two hundred dollars a session, he could afford leather.
The Silver maple in front of me, becomes the silver maple behind me,
like the neighborhood I moved away from. Memories, a magnificent
sleight of hand, they’re both past and present.
Sunglasses the perfect disguise on sunny a day. So who’d notice, the two of me,
past and present cruising down this verdant valley on four wide tires,
watching brown and cream cows go from grazing to grazed in my rearview mirror?
Like the time my mom went from normal to institutional in a matter of minutes.
Now you see them, now you don’t, that’s the way the mirror
worked the parents in my head.
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